


It Follows Me Like a Shadow

by geriatricsupersoldiers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geriatricsupersoldiers/pseuds/geriatricsupersoldiers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to stop it, but he can’t. It's like he’s disconnected. His consciousness has separated from his body, and all he can do is watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Follows Me Like a Shadow

He can see everything that's going on around him, but he can also see himself, as if he had suddenly vacated his own body and was watching the whole scene play out from a distance.

It's a bit unfocused at first, like he's just woken up and his eyes are still adjusting to the light, but with a few blinks, he can see it all clearly.

Coulson is there, and Simmons and Fitz. Bobbi is there, too, and trying her damnedest to fight him off, but that only makes things worse. Makes him angrier, more vicious, more determined to take her out before moving onto the others.

With eyes glaring red, he wraps his fingers around her neck, lifting her off the ground as if she barely weighs a pound.

He can tell she's talking to him-- her eyes are searching his face in a panic, her mouth is moving at a rapid pace-- but he can't make out a word.

As a matter of fact, he knows the others are speaking, as well, calling his name and crying out pleas, but it's all a muffled hum of meaningless noise by the time it reaches his ears.

He wants to stop it, that body that looks exactly like his, but he can’t. He’s disconnected. His consciousness has separated from his body, and all he can do is watch himself grip Bobbi’s throat a little tighter and wait to see what happens next.

Coulson shoots-- that’s what happens next. They couldn’t be real bullets, though. Either that was an ICER or he’s even stronger than he looks.

He doesn’t go down. No, that would’ve been too easy of an ending for this whole catastrophe. He doesn’t go down, and everything gets unbelievably worse, _fast_.

The shots do nothing but redirect his attention. He releases Bobbi, not bothering to watch as she crumples to the ground, and turns to face his shooter.

Instead of Coulson, he finds Simmons, coming at him fast and furious, as if she could actually do anything to stop him. No, the only person strong enough stop him is probably himself, and he’s lost all control to do that.

In his mind’s eye, he looks on with a heavy dread, as if he already knows how this is going to play out.

He watches Simmons approach him, and he wants nothing more than to pull her back, because he just _knows_ what’s going to happen, and then it _does_ happen.

There’s something in her hands, and she swings it at him with as much force as she can muster-- not enough, though. Not even close.

He stops her midway to making contact with his shoulder, and with one fluid swipe of his arm, lobs her out of his path.

There’s no stopping her course, no one close enough to catch her when lands hard on her back, skidding helplessly toward the open shaft, and in an instant, she’s gone. Fallen into blackness.

Internally, he’s consumed by panic and horror, made only worse by the fact that it _just won’t stop_.

The muffled noise of half-familiar voices echoes again, a little louder than before, and suddenly one word sounds loud and sharp: “Mack!”

It’s Fitz, and for the first time since this horror began, he can hear him. His voice is distorted, like he’s underwater, but the words are clear enough.

“Mack, wake up. Don’t make me do this.”

Fitz has got a gun fixed on him, and somehow he knows it’s real. He knows it’s real just like he knows all of this is wrong, but his acknowledgement of one fact is just as worthless as that of the other.

He sees himself pause for a fraction of a moment before lurching forward once more, and he wants to scream, because _no_ , this can’t be happening, _please_. It’s bad enough already, but _God,_ not him, not Fitz.

He can see the fear in Fitz’s eyes, the way they’re pleading for him to stop just as much as he’s trying to plead with himself. But he doesn’t stop, he _can’t_ , and Fitz’s grip on the gun tightens before he screws his eyes shut and squeezes the trigger.

The booming clap of the gunshot jerks Mack back into reality.

He feels his eyes shoot open although he can’t see a thing when they do. It’s nearly pitch black, and for a moment he’s convinced that he’s either dead or back at the bottom of that shaft.

He gasps for a breath and another and another in rapid succession, still trying to orient himself to his surroundings, which would be far easier if there was a light on.

There’s a weight on his chest, he notices with a start, and that weight has begun to shift. He can feel fingers splaying over his heart, and it’s only then that he realizes the weight is that of a person.

“Mack?” The voice is raspy, gruff from sleep, but unmistakable-- Fitz?

Mack can feel him scrambling at his side before the space around them is suddenly filled with light.

“Mack, are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Blinking his eyes into focus, he slowly realizes that he is neither dead nor in the stale darkness of the underground city, but in his bed at the Playground. The blankets are in a pile on the floor and Fitz is sitting up next to him, brow furrowed in concern.

“Oh God, Fitz,” he finally manages, sitting up and pulling him in close. His heart is still pounding, and he’s hot and probably sweaty, and maybe he’ll apologize for that later, but right now, he’s desperate for contact. Desperate to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he and Fitz are ok, and that all of this is real.

“Nightmares?” Fitz mumbles into his shoulder where he’s pressed tight, arms slung around Mack’s neck.

“Yea.”

“Same as before?”

“Worse.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No... I don’t know.”

“Do you want-- I can get you some water or something.”

“No, that’s ok. Could you just stay right here?” Mack squeezes him just a bit tighter. “I think I just need to stay like this for a minute if that’s ok.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Fitz promises, pressing a feather-light kiss to Mack’s neck.

They stay like that for a minute or two, clinging firmly to one another as Mack’s heartbeat slows to a normal pace and his breathing evens out.

“I’ll let you go back to sleep soon, Turbo, I promise.”

“Are _you_ going back to sleep?”

“Doubt it.”

“Then I’m not, either.” He cuts Mack off before he can even open his mouth to protest. “And I won’t hear your-- your-- another word about it.”

Mack suggests they at least lie back down, so they do, Fitz resting his head on Mack’s chest, enjoying the rhythmic thump of his heart in the relative silence of the room.

They’re both quiet for another several minutes before Mack begins, hesitantly, “I killed them.”

“Hmm?”

“In my dream. We were back in the tunnel, and I killed Bobbi and Simmons.”

“Oh.”

“And then you shot me.”

“ _Oh_.”

“I don’t think it’s ever gone that far, before. I get to Bobbi or Jemma, and that usually wakes me up, but this time I just couldn’t. I was watching it all go down, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it, no matter how hard I tried.”

“God, Mack.”

“I’m sorry I ever put you in that position, Fitz.” Mack murmurs, wrapping his arms around Fitz’s frame and pressing a kiss into his blond curls.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he immediately responds the way he does every time he hears that apology. He’s not sure that it helps, but it’s the first thing he thinks. “Besides, I don’t think I would have been-- could have done it.”

“I would have wanted you to.”

“Mack--”

“It would have been better than the alternative. Couldn’t live with myself knowing that I hurt you.”

And suddenly Fitz thinks he understands what Jemma must have been feeling all that time ago at the bottom of the ocean, being asked to let her best friend die so that she could live.

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. He still thinks he wouldn’t do it-- _couldn't_ do it-- no matter how much danger he was in.

They both go quiet again, and contrary to his stubborn declaration, Fitz is eventually lulled back to sleep by the soft rise and fall of Mack’s breathing.

Mack knows he won’t sleep for fear of where his subconscious might lead him.

Once he’s sure Fitz is fast asleep, he gently shifts him onto his other side and slowly crawls out of bed to head for the shower. There’s surely some work that he can get started on until the rest of the base wakes up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling to write a different fic that briefly mentions Mack having trouble sleeping, and in the process, I was inspired to write this one. Sorry :\
> 
> Also, my apologies if this account of the events in episode 2x09 isn't totally accurate (apart from the obvious, purposeful discrepancies, of course). It's been a while since I watched it, and I don't entirely remember all the details (i.e.: if Coulson fired the ICER or if it was someone else, etc).


End file.
